


The Legend of Hooded Robyn

by purple_bookcover



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Ashelix Week (Fire Emblem), Frottage, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Robin Hood - Freeform, thigh fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:29:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27151132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purple_bookcover/pseuds/purple_bookcover
Summary: Felix is a bored duke. When his carriage is robbed by a hooded miscreant, he discovers that the man behind the local legends of a "Hooded Robyn" might be a familiar face.
Relationships: Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24
Collections: Ashelix Week 2020





	The Legend of Hooded Robyn

**Author's Note:**

> Ashelix Week, Day 6: Fairy tales.
> 
> I went with Robin Hood because ... Ashe. When I was doing some research, I found it originally written as Robyn and I liked that so I went with it.

Felix jolts in the carriage. He grumbles as whatever the wheels just bumbled over knock him against a wall. 

He’d dozed off. There really isn’t much else to do in a carriage, he’s found, but the bump forces him back awake. The advisor sitting across from him grimaces, trying to hide his perpetual disappointment. 

“Duke Fraldarius, you really should--”

Felix waves his hand. The man goes on, but Felix stops listening. He’s heard this speech a dozen times. He should look at the reports of tax collectors or some petition from some local lord. He should _care,_ is what the advisor means to say, but in the year Felix has spent being duke, he cannot claim to have ever truly cared. 

It was never the future he saw for himself, especially not during the war. When Edelgard’s damn army claimed Rodrigue in Arianrhod though, it became the only future Felix had available – that or death. Some days, he truly wonders if dying in battle would have been preferable. He’s never been suited to this kind of stuff – diplomacy and stiff collars and lists of grain stores. He’s a fighter. Well, he was a fighter. A year has already softened his instinct and skill in that regard, despite how he tries to maintain his training. 

Felix fingers the hilt of the knife at his waist. The thing is barely more than ornamental, but it gives him some sort of reassurance all the same. 

“Duke Fraldarius.”

Felix sighs as he forces himself to focus on the advisor. 

“The weather is turning,” the man says. “The matter of the grain stores truly cannot be delayed much longer. If we might just use the rest of this journey to discuss the matter, we may nearly solve it before we return to--” 

The carriage jolts again. Felix thinks it is just another bump in the worn roads, roads torn up and mangled by the passage of armies, but the carriage stops entirely. The driver shouts and there’s a scuffle of bodies. 

He grabs his knife.

“Duke Fraldarius!”

He ignores the advisor’s shocked cry as he bursts out of the carriage, knife in hand, every one of those old, forgotten fighting instincts flaring back to life. He’s in a crouch before he makes it to the ground.

He straightens back up immediately. 

Ashe lowers his bow, gaping at him.

#

Ashe is struggling not to laugh. Felix is wearing some sort of tailored and embroidered coat with long tails. The vest beneath is tight and fitted, horrible for fighting. Even his shoes are impractical; the heels sink into the soft ground of the trail through the forest. 

Yet Felix is crouched before him brandishing a knife and though it has been six years since Ashe last saw him, he recognizes him instantly.

“Felix,” he says. 

Felix grips the knife, but it’s looking less threatening as he gapes at Ashe. His eyes flicker for a moment to his driver, tied up on the ground but basically unharmed. 

“Did you think I was dead?” Ashe says. 

“I didn’t know what to think,” Felix says. “You just disappeared one day.”

“I told you, my siblings needed me.”

“I know,” Felix says. “Even so, when I--” 

He stops himself, but it is too late. 

“You went looking for me,” Ashe says.

It’s not a question, but Felix nods. “Yeah. Gaspard. But you weren’t there.”

“I was already gone,” Ashe says. “By the time Edelgard attacked Garreg Mach I’d already taken my siblings and moved us all out of the reach of your war.”

“It was never my war.”

“Yet here you are, a duke in the rebuilt Kingdom Dimitri won.”

“I never wanted...” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Ashe says. 

Felix pauses. “No,” he says, “I suppose it doesn’t.” 

Ashe sets down his bow, unsheathing a knife instead. Felix raises an eyebrow at this, but Ashe doesn’t give him time to protest or question; he rushes in, weapon brandished. The fight should be brutal and quick and ugly. It should be over the moment Ashe gets inside Felix’s range. But neither of them stab when they could, opting instead to grab and grapple. 

Felix gets a hold of Ashe’s wrist, pushing Ashe’s knife back and away from himself. Ashe is doing the same with Felix’s knife. It leaves them in a stalemate. Despite now being a duke, Felix has retained most of his fighting instincts, Ashe realizes. That has the potential to make this more complicated than it ought to be, yet even when Ashe tears his wrist free he does not stab as he ought, but instead dances back and out of range. 

They begin to circle each other, crouching, knives somehow not yet bloodied. 

“Why are you doing this?” Felix says.

“It’s what I do now.”

Realization dawns in Felix’s eyes. “You’re Robyn?” 

Ashe just smiles and rushes back in. Again, he could slash at Felix and again he does not. He gets low, trying to take Felix’s legs out from under him. Felix absorbs the kick and stays standing and now he’s raising his arms up, threatening to bring them down hard on Ashe’s head. 

Ashe lunges. It’s the only option he has left. He wraps his arms around Felix’s middle and barrels into him, driving them both to the ground. The knives get lost in the shuffle, dropped along the way as Ashe and Felix grapple and claw at each other. 

Felix is smiling. 

It’s not a true smile, more like a strange curl at the edges of a grimace, but it’s there and Ashe can see it and Felix must know he sees it. 

Ashe realizes he’s smiling right back. He’s sure some madness has overtaken him. Felix has him on his back, pinned him in the dirt. Ashe bucks his hips to flip them over, but even when he sits on Felix’s torso his leverage is tenuous. 

“No.” 

Felix shouts, but it’s not for Ashe. Ashe turns to see behind him. 

“Shit,” Ashe curses. He rolls off Felix and leaps away from the man who’s just emerged from the carriage. He wasn’t counting on a third person. It should have just been Felix and his driver. 

Felix stands and brushes himself off. The newcomer is fluttering around Felix, asking over and over if he’s hurt. Felix looks more annoyed than relieved. The smile is gone. 

“Leave,” Felix says.

The man stops. “What? But Duke Fraldarius--”

“Go,” Felix says. “Take Bennett with you. Return to Fraldarius.”

“But what of you, my lord?” 

Felix scoops his knife up off the ground and wipes at his face with the back of his hand. “I’ll be fine.”

The man stands there glancing between Felix and Ashe, stunned, mouth moving without making any sound. 

Felix whirls on him. “I ordered you to leave. Now go.” 

Finally, the man reacts, nearly tripping over his own feet as he unties the driver. Together, they clamber into the seat at the front of the carriage and set the horses racing down the road winding between the trees. 

Neither Ashe nor Felix moves until even the dust left in the wake of the carriage dissipates and fades away. Then, Felix throws the knife back at the ground. It juts from the soft dirt. Felix strides forward. Ashe backs up, but he knows even before Felix reaches him that they aren’t fighting anymore. 

Felix is still in motion when he gets his hand behind Ashe’s head and presses their mouths together. They’re stumbling backward, tripping over each other. Ashe is almost grateful when a tree hits his back, halting their motion, keeping them from tumbling to the ground. It is hardly steadying as Felix goes on kissing him, his tongue darting into Ashe’s mouth. It’s like six years of pent up kisses all at once, so hard it makes Ashe whimper, stealing his breath away with its ferocity. 

He’s panting when Felix breaks away. 

“Where were you all this time?” Felix says. 

“Nowhere,” Ashe says. It’s true. Ashe has hardly remained in one place long. He’s moved constantly, remade himself a dozen times. The most recent iteration, “Robyn,” is just a version of what he’s had to do for his whole life, stealing some wealthy man’s discarded change so he can survive to the next day. 

Felix doesn’t seem to care about the details. He presses back in against Ashe’s mouth, smothering him with hungry lips. Ashe doesn’t mind. He gropes for Felix’s fine vest, using it to tug him in even closer. Their hips meet, their excitement grinding against each other. 

Felix breaks away long enough to spin Ashe around and shove him roughly against the tree. Ashe moans as Felix dives for his neck, kissing up to his ear, licking the trembling space just behind the lobe. Felix’s breath rasps hot against Ashe’s skin, making it prickle and tingle. The sensation sizzles down Ashe’s spine. He arches, tilting his hips back against Felix. 

That earns a groan. Felix presses closes, rubbing against Ashe, clumsy in his urgency. 

Ashe can’t blame him. Moments ago, they were fighting; moments ago, Felix was just a rich man Ashe was trying to steal from. Now Felix’s hands are shoving Ashe’s pants down and his cock is heavy against Ashe’s ass. 

Felix fumbles as he angles between Ashe’s thighs. Ashe closes his legs tight as Felix manages to push between the gap. The friction burns, but Ashe hardly notices. He pumps his own cock, fingers brushing against Felix’s when it squeezes between his thighs again. 

The whole thing is quick and sloppy and barely functional, but neither of them care. Ashe hitches his hips back against Felix; Felix thrusts between his thighs and emits hot little puffs of breath each time he does. 

Soon, his hand joins Ashe’s. They stroke together, hasty and bumbling, but it makes little difference. Ashe cries out as Felix touches him and braces against the tree when he unravels. Felix spills hot against Ashe’s thighs. They both sag their weight against the tree, gasping for breath as their bodies come down from the frantic high. 

Felix laughs against Ashe’s ear. 

“I can’t believe you tried to rob me.”

“You didn’t seem to mind,” Ashe says.

“I suppose I didn’t. Never cared much for coins.” 

“Oh?” Ashe says.

“Seems like some people have too many and a whole lot of people have too few.”

“That’s true, but we could change that. I’ve been trying to change that.”

“We?” Felix says.

“We,” Ashe offers. And it is an offer. 

Felix huffs a laugh, nuzzling against the back of Ashe’s neck. 

It is answer enough.

#

“This can’t be.” 

Antoni’s legs tremble. He holds up his hands as a man in a mask approaches, sword drawn. All Antoni can see are amber eyes glinting at him. 

“W-what do you want?” Antoni says. 

The man says nothing, just keeps that sword tip against Antoni’s chest, right below his chin. At first, Antoni is confused. Then he hears rustling behind him. He nearly swivels, but that sword keeps him in place.

“Ah ah,” the man before him says. Antoni gets the sense he is smiling beneath the cloth wrapped over his face. 

The rustling continues, the sound prickling at Antoni. He hears his saddlebags opening, hears the jangle of coin purses laden and heavy as they are removed. 

A second man steps into his view. This one is not as carefully concealed, but that does not make anything clearer. He looks soft, boyish even, with those freckles scattered beneath green eyes. Yet he is carrying every coin Antoni had in his saddlebags and his smile is sharper than the sword at Antoni’s chest. 

“You,” Antoni says. “You are Robyn?” 

The green-eyed man laughs softly. The other man snorts within his concealing cloths and sheaths his sword. The pair starts to back away. Antoni should let them go. If any of the stories of this hooded “Robyn” are correct, he should count himself fortunate for merely being robbed. 

Yet he speaks. 

“Wait,” he calls. 

They stop and Antoni swallows, but he may as well press on now. The green-eyed man is watching him. The other is merely standing there, his back stiff and tense, hand straying to his sword hilt. 

“The tales,” Antoni says. “They are true, then? A hooded and masked man named Robyn who takes wealth from those who’ve toiled for it only to redistribute it to poor wretches. It is true, is it not?”

The green-eyed man laughs. His silent shadow snorts. 

“Toiled for it,” Green Eyes says. “Indeed. Then it should be no problem for you to recover this pittance we’ve taken.” 

“Toil some more,” the shadow adds. 

Then they leave, melting into the forest, vanishing with stolen coin.

When Antoni makes it home, he tells a harrowing tale of his near escape from assault and plunder at the hands of Hooded Robyn.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/purplebookcover) (18+ please).
> 
> I respond to every comment. Thank you, friends!


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